I pushed open the study door with the divorce papers in my bag.
Inside,Xavier had his sleeves rolled up,trimming the stems of a bouquet of white lilies.He was never a romantic.In fact,he used to mock other men for bringing flowers to their girlfriends.
“Pointless,”he’d said one Valentine’s Day.“They’re dead in a week.”
We’d been married three years and I hadn’t even received a single daisy.Besides,those lilies weren’t for me—they were Vanessa’s favorite.
A few clipped stems fell into the trash before Xavier finally glanced up.“You’re out of the hospital.How are you feeling?”he asked as he stood,arranging the bouquet in a crystal vase and fussing with the petals.Then he added,“About tonight…I didn’t mean it.”
“But I know you’ll be fine,”he laughed.“You’ve been through worse,right?Grew up with nothing.A little operation isn’t anything,is it?”
I almost laughed.
He had no idea—I was the sole heir to one of the state’s wealthiest families.The only time I’d ever suffered was the day I married him.
He crossed the room toward me with the lilies like a trophy.“Hey,don’t you think these are pretty?”
As the flowers came near,my throat tightened.I turned my head and coughed—once,twice—hard,involuntary coughs.My allergy flared,and the first thing he did was shove me aside.
My back hit the sharp corner of the desk.The stitches on my healing wound split open and blood began to soak my blouse.Pain blurred my vision,while Xavier’s worried gaze stayed fixed on the lilies.
“You nearly ruined them!”he snapped.“Do you know how rare these are?Air-freighted!Professionally grown!”
Realizing that even my health couldn’t compete with a bouquet,I forced a bitter smile and thought,Was I with him for three years for this?God,how blind I’d been to love this bastard.
I was allergic to flowers—something he never cared about.If he’d cared at all,he would have known my wound wasn’t fully healed.
I took a steadying breath,reached into my bag,and pulled out the papers.“Xavier,”I said,sliding the divorce agreement hidden inside a contract toward him,“I need your signature.”
He paused.For the first time his gaze rested on me.“You just got out of the hospital.You should rest,”he said quietly.
Still,he reached for the papers.His fingers had barely touched the page when his phone rang.The contact name flashed on the screen and I glanced:“Baby.”
He kept Vanessa’s name stored so sweetly;mine had always been formal,my full name.The contrast said everything.
Holding the bouquet in one hand,he smiled and answered as he walked toward the door.“I won’t be home for dinner.Go back after work by yourself.”
I stepped forward,flipped to the last page,and shoved a pen into his hand.“Sign first.”
My husband frowned.He was cautious—he checked every word before signing anything.But the phone rang again.Even at near-mute volume,Vanessa’s voice poured through,playful and breathy.“Xavier,I’ve been waiting forever!Hurry up…”
And so the careful man didn’t read a single line.He flicked his wrist and scrawled his name.My heart,which had been lodged in my throat,dropped—and then a flash of self-mockery passed through me.If he’d looked twice,he’d have seen he wasn’t signing a property contract at all.
“Done.Satisfied?Can I go now?”he said,sarcastic.
I nodded stiffly.“Yes.You’re free now.”
This time I did exactly as he wanted—I let him go and handed him his freedom.
As he left,he turned and said,“The study hasn’t been cleaned in months.Since you’re here—why not tidy it up?”The heavy click of the door echoed in my ears.
Xavier’s study had always been off-limits.Not a speck of dust.Only he knew where the spare key was,which drawer held the wipes,and how he liked the edges of papers perfectly aligned.
When I reached his desk,a framed photo caught my eye—Vanessa’s smile behind the glass,staring back at me.I turned and noticed my own photo in the wastebasket by the cabinet:face down,its edges crumpled like trash.
I pressed my lips together;the smile didn’t reach my eyes.It felt like a knife.
Having secured his signature,I looked around the cozy home I had built with my own hands and memories swelled.My gaze finally settled on the wedding photo in the living room—one he polished and displayed.Seeing Xavier’s strained smile in the frame felt unbearable.I took the picture down and threw it into the trash downstairs.
I spent the rest of the night clearing out our marital things.
Xavier noticed the missing photo as soon as he came back.He saw me bent over writing and,rare for him,frowned.“Where’s the wedding photo?”
“The nail was loose.I was afraid it might fall,so I took it down,”I said.
He didn’t ask more.He set the late-night takeout beside me and went back into the study.The sharp aroma stopped me.I opened the bag and saw the red,spicy Chinese food inside and felt my stomach turn.
For three years of our marriage I’d eaten blandly because of my stomach.My husband had never known.The old me would have eaten it all to please him,no matter how hot.Now I took the whole bag downstairs and threw it away.
From today on,I would throw away every grievance and every hurt from this marriage—and that included throwing him away.
